Black Seed
by Elysian Dawn
Summary: In the sequel to "Desperado Sun," the Hunger Games have shattered 16 year-old Summer Glenn's innocence. The dream of a normal life fades as she finds no escape from the Capitol's reach. Paranoia and violence swirl under the Capitol's veil of strength, and forces operating beneath President Snow's gaze will draw Summer into a conflict far larger than the Hunger Games.
1. The Howling Wind

_**69 years after the Capitol introduced the Hunger Games, division and resentment boil in Panem's twelve Districts. The Capitol's tight grip of control over its outlying territory is showing cracks. Meanwhile, a deadly cancer has taken residence right in the heart of Panem's central city and thrives just under the nose of President Snow. Suspicion, distrust, fear, and paranoia grow as the thin line between peace and chaos wanes.**_

_**In District 10, 16 year-old Summer Glenn, the newly-crowned victor of the 69**__**th**__** Hunger Games, struggles to mesh her desire to return to her old life with her new status as an icon of Panem. Fame and fortune's no draw to Summer, who wants only the familiarity of a home, friendship, and even love. As the Capitol draws her back into the world of the Games, however, she'll have to face more than just coping with her status as a veteran of the arena. A shadowy undercurrent looks to draw her into the Capitol's internal strife, while a looming menace decades in the making seeks to nurture the darkness it sees in Summer's heart.**_

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**District 10, Year of the 69****th**** Hunger Games | Late Autumn**

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A lily falls in the darkness.

The howling wind of the autumn evening buffets the flowers outside my home in District 10's Victor's Village. Gusts swoop in like vultures in the twilight darkness, harbingers of the thunderstorm that's lurking as a shadowy demon on the horizon. Bolts of lightning strike in the distance as warnings that I'm powerless to stop this storm.

I prop my elbows up on my kitchen windowsill and watch as the wind blows my flowers blown apart one by one. I'd planted the lilies as a tribute to my fallen friend from District 12 who had accepted me unconditionally as an ally in the 69th Hunger Games when no one else would. Nature doesn't care. It laughs at me as it knocks aside my memorial to Lily LeBray without so much as shedding a single teardrop from its roiling ocean of thunderclouds.

My tears over the past few months have more than made up for it.

The baritone gusts of the wind sound off like an organ from the earth's subterranean depths and send a chill up my arms. It isn't cold on the prairie yet here in the last days of autumn, but the warm sun of summertime has given way to falling leaves and stormy skies. The animals District 10 works so hard to raise and nurture are little more than plastic-wrapped waiting dinners for the Capitol at this point.

This old, creaking house in the Victor's Village is no home. The Capitol gifted me this three-story mansion the day I'd returned to District 10 from the Hunger Games, but while's warm and well-lit, it's a reminder of just how lonely it can get as a victor. My older sister, Holly, still lives back at our old family ranch, since she'll one day inherit the property as the eldest child. She's too busy these days to visit me much, and my parents seem glad to have found a way to pawn off their wayward younger daughter. I'm left with only my few friends to confide in these days, and I've even come to view them as different, changed. It's as if I've fallen through a giant lens in the months since I first left for the Hunger Games, and now the District 10 I once knew has turned into a strange land shaded in a charcoal shadow.

More and more, the gulf between me and the things I once knew expands.

I look out the window as a cavalcade of dead leaves roars by in the furious wind. Soft yellow light shines like a beacon in the storm from a house across the street and two doors down. At least Austin's still up and about.

Out of my two fellow victors, Austin Ortega's certainly the one with looser morals – and he's not my first choice for company on this haunting evening. Still, he'll do in a pinch. I just want to know someone's there for me in the storm. I don't want to wait all night watching for stars that will never come out from behind the clouds. There are only so many times I can talk to memories and reminisce with dreams.

I shovel down a cold piece of bread from my dinner and toss on a thick scarlet coat. I don't know why I wear this thing when the color reminds me so much of the uniform I wore back in the arena, but it'll keep out the wind. I take a deep breath and reach for my front door.

_Slam!_

The wind blasts open my door with a cannon shot as soon as I've twisted the knob. I grit my teeth and lean into the wind, just barely managing to shut the door behind me. The coming storm's hitting the road with a full-force gale as if someone's shut a tornado up in the Victor's Village. The storm's going to be ugly overnight. As I slowly lean into the wind and make my way down the road towards Austin's house, I wonder how many houses of slaughterhouse and dairy factory workers across the river will need to be repaired tomorrow.

"Thanks, nature," I say, but my voice is carried off like a silenced victim into the wind.

I make my way to Austin's house and bang on the door with a clenched fist.

"Whatcha want, Summer?" a scratchy voice from inside barks.

I step back. I didn't expect him to know it was me without even looking out the window.

"Can I come in?" I say.

"You have chickens? I have no idea what you just said."

The door opens and golden light spills out into the darkness. Austin's lanky frame and loose brown duster take up almost the entire doorway. Strands of loose black hair blow past his dark eyes, with shadows jumping all across his face against the backdrop of his well-lit home. Austin can pull off the dangerous look without even trying sometimes.

It seems to work for the adoring Capitol audience at least, even though it's been nearly eighteen years since he won the Games.

"Can I come in?" I repeat.

"Why ya' wanna come in?"

I huff and push past him to get out of the wind. I hang my jacket up on his coat rack and turn towards a mirror hanging on the wall. I look wild. Too many long nights of chatting with loneliness in my living room has cut dark circles under my blue eyes. My brown hair's turned into an explosion from the wind despite being pulled back in my usual ponytail, and bits of dead, dry leaves stick out at odd angles from my head. At least I'm not trying to impress anyone tonight. It's not like Austin's going to have company.

"You can't just come barging in here, Summer, it's not an open house," Austin scoffs.

"I don't have anywhere else to go," I say, picking leaves out of my hair.

"Did you think I might have company?"

"No. With who?"

"A friend. Or perhaps just a colleague."

I'm so stunned by the pleasant, refined voice that answers me that I almost fall over. In the hallway that leads to Austin's well-lit living room stands a decidedly average man. His short-cropped brown hair, chestnut-shaped brown eyes and simple tan vest tell me nothing about where he's from. He's neither tall nor short but somewhere in between, and even the faint smile on his face fails to make an impression. It's almost as if he exists in some sort of lower world where blending into the world around is an art.

One thing's for sure: He's the last person I'd expect to be friends with Austin in District 10.

"Summer Glenn?" he tilts his head to the right and takes a step forward. "You'll be getting a lot of that now, I guess."

I hesitate to shake his open hand, settling on reaching up with a grip like a limp fish. "Are you from the ranches?" I ask tentatively.

"The ranches here? No, I'm not like your parents," he says without missing a beat. He's well-informed at least. "Although it always has seemed like a bit more of a…pastoral life, I suppose. I know better, but in theory. Man, woman. Open land. Big sky."

I take my hand back with a snap. Now I know why he can call himself a friend of Austin's. He's not from District 10 at all.

"You're from the Capitol?" I ask, my voice shrinking inside my throat.

Austin steps back into the foyer with a glass of clear liquid in his hand. "Ah, forgot introductions. Summer, this's Scipio Sextus from the Capitol."

Oh, this is not where I want to be tonight. It was a mistake coming here. I know Austin's well-connected with the Capitol crowd – my other fellow victor, Cal, says he enjoys the attention of the wealthier patrons from Panem's central city – but these aren't my people. I sure don't want their attention, not when I'm trying to get over so many things from the Capitol and the Hunger Games.

"I can leave…" I start to say, but this man – Scipio – cuts me off.

"No need. I like meeting new people," he says simply. "Let's go back to the den. A man needs to sit in the light once and a while."

I follow only because of Austin's hand pushing me forward. This man isn't right. He doesn't dress like a Capitolian, he doesn't talk like one, and he doesn't even have the trademark Capitol upspeak accent.

"It's a quaint place here," Scipio says as we enter the living room. He sits down on one of Austin's broad plush chairs and cradles a cup of coffee in his weathered hands. "Nice to be away from the trivialities and noise. I'm sure you're looking forward to it, Austin."

My mentor laughs as he sits down next to me on an adjacent couch. "The, uh, quaintness, gets old after a while. Gotta get away from the smell of cows."

"Mmm," Scipio says, looking out the window without so much as a friendly laugh of acknowledgement. "Not a month before your Victory Tour, after all, Summer. Looking forward to seeing the Capitol again?"

I shrink into the couch. It's as if this man's eyes bear down on me even when he's looking the other way. "It's…a nice place," I lie.

"It's full of banal idiots," Scipio says quickly. "Of course, that's what you probably meant by 'nice,' I'm guessing. I saw your fight in the arena. But don't worry, you'll have a lot more time to enjoy those niceties on the Tour and when the Games roll around next year, anyway."

Scipio leans back and sets his mug down. "You told her much about the Games on the mentor side of it, Austin?"

"Ah, I haven't gotten around to it. Cal's supposed to do that kind of thing," Austin waves him off.

"Maybe a good thing, then," Scipio muses. "Don't want to throw her in right away."

"Throw me into what?"

I clamp my lips shut as soon as I've spoken. I can't help myself from saying stupid things sometimes, but Scipio doesn't berate me for my thoughts. He grins wryly and sticks his thumb under his chin, saying, "All the other games in the Capitol, let's call it. There are more than just the ones that involve hunger."

I watch him silently. Little muscles across his face flex and twitch when he thinks, and his words slide out of his mouth like tiny serpents. "Austin could tell you more. Or ask any of your other fellow victors, now that you're one of them. Might want to start with District 4. Finnick Odair seems to know every nook and cranny of the Capitol these days."

"Finnick?" I ask. I hold back from spitting the name out. The lecherous victor from District 4 is the last person I want to get to know, between his blunt critiques of me on air during the pre-Games training to his confronting me the day before I left the Capitol after I'd won. I don't want anything to do with District 4.

"He's a man of many faces," Scipio says. "We all are. There are a lot of secrets in the Capitol, Summer. A few of them have minds of their own."

Scipio stands up and pulls a cherry-sized metal globe from his pocket. "Now, Summer, Austin and I have some more serious matters to talk about. I'm going to ask to you to give us some time alone. Sorry to disappoint when you're no doubt looking for a little relief from this stormy night, but some things can't wait."

I look over at Austin, but he's on the same page as his Capitol guest. The stone-faced look he gives me tells me that Scipio's request isn't an option. Back to my lonely house it is, then.

When I start down the hall towards the door, however, Scipio leaves me with a final word: "Keep your eyes open when you come back to the Capitol on your Tour, Summer. There are some there who might want to use them to see things you don't want to."

I pause just for a moment before shouldering my jacket and stepping back into the howling wind.

The rain just starts to fall as I trudge back down the street, careful to keep myself from falling down in the gale. I can't tell if Scipio's warning me of something, or if he's just playing a role around Austin. Austin – what does he have to do with this enigmatic man, anyway? I've always had a funny feeling around the younger of my two mentors considering his many connections and friends in Panem's central city, something that many other victors lack, especially from outlying districts like District 10.

There's no way I'm going to figure out everything in my head in one night. One thing's for sure, though: I need to be careful of who I'm honest with. I can trust Cal, Holly, and my two long-time friends, Odessa and Plano, but besides that, the rest of District 10 suddenly feels very distant and cut off.

I wonder if every victor has to fight this strange loneliness after the Games. It's one part battling memories, one part fighting boredom and alienation. Strangers send suspicious looks my way around the district, and with everyone else so busy, I'm left with too much time to ruminate and dwell on things I'd rather not dive into.

My house is just as empty as I left it when I force the front door open and step inside. I hang my coat up and am just about to flick on the lights when I'm interrupted.

"_Screak!_"

"Ah!" I cry.

The unexpected squeak makes me jump back and slam into the door. I fumble around my wall as fast as I can, lurching for the light switch, desperate to get out of the dark. Somewhere, somewhere…just get the damn lights on!

Finally! My fingers run across the switch and I smack at it until the foyer light flickers on with a low hum.

The darkness and the jump made me expect…what? A mutt? A tribute out to get me? A sharpened spear soaring in from the shadows? When I look around, there's nothing here but an empty hallway, a coat rack, and white paint.

Nothing here at all.

"_Screak!_"

My nerves jump. I bend down and look under a table in my kitchen when I see it. A tiny brown mouse huddles under a chair, gnawing on a bread crumb and staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. It's searching for a refuge from the storm, a safe haven from the darkness.

It's nothing.

Nothing but a little mouse.

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_**Author's Note: Thanks for reading chapter 1! For those unfamiliar with Summer Glenn and this story, I'd advise first reading the first installment/prequel, **_**Desperado Sun**_**, the tale of Summer's trials in the 69**__**th**__** Hunger Games, which you can find here: s/9887080/1/Desperado-Sun**_

_**For those who read through the last story, first - thank you so much! Secondly, welcome back to Summer's journey! Like the last one, I've taken a few creative liberties with the Capitol and Panem for the plot and effect. This time around there'll be a lot more of the characters you're familiar with as compared with the first story. As always, comments, concerns, critiques, and observations are always appreciated as feedback! The Hunger Games, Panem, the twelve Districts, Finnick Odair, Haymitch Abernathy, President Snow, Annie Cresta, and all existing domains of the Hunger Games series referenced here are the property of Suzanne Collins. Rated T for violence, language, and implied themes. Hope you enjoy! **_


	2. A Break in the Clouds

_**A/N: Big thanks to all the faves/follows/reviews from newcomers and those who have stuck around alike! Sorry for the slow update on the second chapter here; been busy this week.  
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"Summer. You listenin'?"

Weak sunlight filters in through wispy cloud cover with stray bands of milky light. My eyelids sag like weights, and I blink to keep myself from dozing off on the kitchen counter of Cal's house. The hearty smell of eggs tempts me to snap out of my stupor and follow my older mentor to his dining room, but I'm lulled into a trance by the depressing conditions outside. The ground's saturated from the storm last night, and all that's left of my bed of lilies is a warzone of torn stems and the occasional shredded white petal.

I shake my head and look over my shoulder. "Hm?"

Cal runs a hand through his hair. He's picked up a few more gray hairs since just a few days ago, I notice. Even we mentors aren't immune to time's effects.

"Come eat breakfast," he says, pointing towards his oaken table in the adjacent room.

I glance over at Austin's house three doors down before I follow Cal. His lights still are on even though it's late morning. Has the man from the Capitol been there all night?

"I can't keep cookin' for you forever," Cal says, sliding a plate of eggs and toast in front of me as I take a seat in his dining room. "You need to learn how to make your own food sometime."

"I'll figure something out," I mumble to my plate, leaning my elbows up on the table and staring down into the blur of yellow and brown beneath me.

I push food around in little swirls on my plate as we eat in silence. Our awkward meal's interrupted only by the clink of forks on our plates. I don't really want to eat breakfast. I'm not hungry, and I feel like I'm wasting Cal's time and food by stewing about in his kitchen. Really, I'm just repeating last night. I don't want to be alone, but every time I hurry up to find some company, I can't do anything but sit in awkward silence.

Maybe I _should_ be alone.

Cal bites into a piece of toast and abruptly says, "You go down to town and get them new boots you need yet?"

"I, um," I start to say, but I finish with only a shake of my head.

My mentor sighs and puts down his piece of toast. "Summer, c'mon," he says. "You can't just hole up in your house forever. Aren't you lonely?"

"People come over," I say.

"I come over. That's it."

"Austin too. And Holly."

"Austin's gone over _once_. Your sister's gone over three times since you came back, and one of those times was the first day you were back. You only see your friends once in a blue moon. You need to get out a bit."

"I do."

"Summer, you go into your yard and sometimes into mine. That doesn't count."

"I went out with Odessa to the river not too long ago. I'm fine."

"That was in August. It's almost winter."

I stand up and feel heat flushing my cheeks. "I don't know what you want me to say," I say.

"No, no, we're gonna talk," Cal says, leaning across the table and pushing my plate to the edge. "Sit down and actually eat."

"What is so wrong with wanting to stay in?"

"Sit."

I sigh and slump back down in my chair, leaning my chin into my left hand and gazing down at my cooling food. I know Cal's just trying to look out for me, but he doesn't get it. I don't want to do any of the things he suggests. I don't want to go to town. I want to see Odessa and Plano more, but I don't feel like being talkative. More and more, I don't really understand their world – not since I plunged headfirst into Cal and Austin's.

Cal slumps back in his chair and stairs at the wall, cradling a mug of coffee between his hands. "Look, Summer," he says quietly, his voice heavy with years of stress. "Are you feelin' alright? 'Cuz you can talk to me about anything. If you're still thinking about the Games and everything, I understand. I can help. I don't wantcha to go through what I did."

Oh great, not this again. I don't know if Cal's trying to make up for something or what, but whenever he tries to act like a father to me, I always feel guilty inside. I don't want to push him away so much, but I just want to be left to my own devices.

"The storm blew over my flowers last night," I say, mumbling the first thing that comes to my mind. If it's enough to placate Cal's probing, so be it.

"You thinkin' bout your friend from District 12?" he says. He lowers his eyelids and gives me half of a smile.

"No."

"It's alright, girl. I know you had a friendship going in the arena, her and the boy from District 7. Y'know, the Victory Tour's coming up, and when you're in those districts, don't hold back from saying something about them. If it helps give you closure, do it."

I play with my ponytail and glance down at my lap. Lily and Acton are the last two people I want to talk to Cal about. He has no idea what it was like to watch them die in the arena. He doesn't know what it was to hold Lily's hand as she died from mutt poison, or to abandon Acton and his mortal wound to the teeth of the hunter mutt so that I could save myself. I can't just push these things out of my mind, especially when they enjoy creeping up every night in my dreams.

"Anyway," Cal goes on, idly picking at a loose thread in his brown vest. "I told your sister to come get you and take you out and about today. Figured you need some fresh air."

"What?" I say, pushing back from the table. "Why?"

"Why not?"

"What if I don't want to, Cal?"

"Summer…"

I'm done listening. I stand up and leave the table in a huff, throwing my jacket over my shoulders and rushing out Cal's door before he has a chance to lecture me again. I don't get far, however. No sooner have I left Cal's house than I see a familiar head of wavy blonde hair and a blue plaid buttoned shirt loitering on my doorstep.

Oh, boy. So much for trying to get home before Holly could find me.

"Hey!" Holly says as I make my way up my front walk at a snail's pace. She's much too chirpy for my liking on this morning. "Your mentor-friend guy came by the ranch a couple days ago and said you were having a tough time. Thought I'd come by."

I keep my head down and say, "Yeah, he does that."

"Well, I'm a little busy today with getting the barn together before winter, baby sis," Holly says with a shrug. "So I thought –"

"Oh, great," I say with fake enthusiasm, spotting an opportunity to avoid the world. "Don't let me stop you then."

Holly grabs my hand and smiles before I can dash for my door. "No, no," she says. "I found that boy you're friends with and found out he's off today from his work on that farm across town. He said he'd be happy to have a day with you."

Aw, swell. I don't have a problem with Plano, but after getting away from Cal and now dealing with Holly, I just want to sit down and stew in my loneliness. It's less effort, and I don't have the energy to be social today.

"C'mon," Holly says, dragging me away from the Victor's Village by my hand.

I want to slap that smile off her face all the way out.

The Ranching Yard, the commercial and social center for the ranchers and field hands on this side of the river, is a vibrant place this morning despite the storm last night. The high winds and shellacking rain hasn't put a dent in any of the sturdy buildings over here, and vendors peddle their wares to hundreds of people in the street like any other day. I slide past arguing customers and merchants as Holly leads me through the crowds.

"This stand is the only stand that sells happiness!" an herbs vendor with an assortment of poppy seeds and other goods on a wooden cart shouts at me as I pass by. He pulls on his long black beard and smiles wickedly. "Just a low, low sum, and any one of you on this good morning can be at the gates of bliss!"

Holly snorts and drags me on. "For the low, low price of getting addicted to his stuff," she adds.

"Holly," I speak up. I've been quiet ever since she pulled me out of the Village, but I'm feeling frantic around all these people. It reminds me too much of things I'd rather forget – the Capitol, the eyes of the audience, and everything that I'll have to face again. "Holly, please, can you just let me go back?"

"Sis, every time I see you it's the same thing," she says and turns around. Her eyes widen and her smile turns into a frown as she adds, "You always just want to stay in. It's killing you. I can see it. Your two mentors can see it. If Mom and Dad actually paid any attention to you they'd see it. C'mon. Stop hiding all the time. You have to go back out to the other districts and the Capitol in a few weeks anyway. Is it gonna kill you to go out and about here at home?"

I slump my shoulders and give up. She points towards a low-slung shop with three tawny horses tied up in front of it, saying, "He said he had to buy a few groceries beforehand. Just wait for him here. I have to run."

"Fine."

"Are you gonna run off if I leave you?"

"No. I'm fine. I'm already out."

"Summer…"

"I promise!" I say and stamp my foot.

My sister gives me a sad smile and lets my hand go. "He seemed nice," she says. "Maybe you and he could –"

"No."

"Alright, alright," she throws up her hands and walks off. "Have fun, sis."

Holly heads off through the crowds, leaving me alone on the busy street. I pull my jacket tighter around my shoulders and huddle close to the wall of a bakery. I can feel eyes wandering in my direction. These people know me, even if I know them. They know the girl who won the Hunger Games for District 10, the first victor here in seventeen years. There's recognition but no respect in their eyes. Victors are no icons here like they are in District 1 or 2 or 4. I feel more alone here in this crowd than I do back at my lonely home.

The grocery's door bangs open. A tall, sandy-haired boy with brown eyes steps out with a wicker basket in hand. A loaf of bread sticks out of the top through the fabric of a brown woven blanket, nudging aside the torn lapel of his green wool jacket. I don't know why, but I imagine that Plano grew during my time in the Hunger Games, even though it was only for a few weeks. He seems older, his face more chiseled, his cheekbones that much more pronounced than before. I can't put my finger on why.

A smile breaks on Plano's face as he sees me. "Summer," he says, weaving between an arguing couple to get to me. "You're alive."

I wave halfheartedly and glance down at the muddy ground. "Yeah, I guess," I say, twisting a loose coat thread around my thumb.

"You guess?" he laughs. It's a weird, unfamiliar sound. The Victor's Village is a place without laughter. Humor eludes Cal, and Austin only laughs when he's being sarcastic or cynical. Seeing Plano's grin draws up a bubbly feeling in my stomach.

"I, um," I say, stumbling over my words. Why am I acting like this? "Holly said you wanted to talk to me, or something."

"No, your sister's the one who likes talking," he smirks. "Talked my ear off. Why've I seen more of her than of you the last few months?"

I dig a hole in the mud as I shift from foot to foot. "It's – I've just been busy," I lie. "Victor stuff, y'know."

"Summer, you haven't done anything since you got back."

"Don't start too, please," I say, backing against the wall and shaking my head. "Cal already gave me a lecture over breakfast and Holly's jumping down my throat, so the last thing I need is -"

"I'm not gonna do that," Plano interrupts me. "C'mon. We're gonna go for a picnic."

"Plano, everything's muddy from last night!"

"So I brought a blanket," he says, pointing to his basket. "I'm not so dumb to think you're afraid of mud. Gimme a little credit."

I'm out of excuses. I sigh with as much exaggeration as I can muster and tromp after Plano away from the Ranching Yard's shops and sloppy streets. Something about this makes me nervous. I haven't been around the district in months, except when Cal drags me down to the shops to buy groceries or other things I need. The rolling fields look so unfamiliar under the dreary skies above. There's something else, though, something I can't quite figure out that's running through my head.

"I hope you didn't spend all your money on buying food for this picnic of ours," I grumble as we walk over the hill overlooking the town. "I mean, I'm fine and all."

"Who's lecturing now?" Plano scoffs without so much as turning back to acknowledge my complaining. "Besides, I have some saved up from work, Summer. Can you just relax? Stretch, have a little fun."

I kick a piece of grass in frustration and I don't speak for the next ten minutes as Plano leads me to a spot overlooking the river bisecting District 10. The storm damage doesn't look so bad from up here. The slum houses across the river are still standing, and even the forest that runs off to the border fence looks undamaged by the wind and rain. Plano tosses down his blanket, sets down his basket, and looks expectantly up at me.

"Relax," he assures me with a little smile.

I hesitate before plopping down on the blanket. Plano slices off a few pieces of bread, puts a piece of lettuce and meat between them, and hands me one of his impromptu sandwiches.

"Chicken was the only thing affordable," he says with a shrug as I take the food from him.

"You don't have to do this for me," I say, looking away as I take a bite.

"But I want to," he says. "Look, Summer…I haven't really been around to help you since you got back, and I'm guessing Odessa and everyone else hasn't really either. I've been busy, but I've also just let you pass the time in that big empty house of yours. It's gotta get lonely in there."

"It does," I murmur.

"So come out. Step away from that thing," Plano says, swallowing a bite of his sandwich. "It's not like we don't want to see you."

"But nobody else does," I say, waving a hand in the air as I defend a pointless argument. "People look at me funny, like I'm wrong or something. Even my family doesn't care about seeing me."

"Your sister does."

"What, like a handful of times since the Games? She has her own life."

"Nobody's judging you, Summer," Plano says. "You're a victor, you're not a Peacekeeper or something. We're proud of you! I woulda died if you hadn't come back."

"I freaking killed people, Plano! Kids! Why wouldn't they think I'm messed up?"

"It's the Hunger Games," he says with a touch of exasperation. "It was you or someone else. Everyone gets that. Don't think people hate you when they don't."

Silence drifts over us as I stare out at the prairie. I want to believe him. I want to think that everything can go back to normal and that I can have a happy life here in District 10, without the thoughts and the memories and the fear of what's coming next haunting my brain every night. Sometimes, when the clouds around my head lift for a brief moment, I even think it's possible.

Then the clouds return and bring the cold back with them.

Plano finishes his sandwich and looks down at the river. "Well," he says. "If nothing else, you got a big house out of it."

A smile forces its way onto my face. "Yeah, I got that."

"Fancy shower and all?"

"Not quite Capitol-fancy."

"Well, you're gonna have to give it a workout," he says.

Before I have time to react, Plano scoops up a handful of mud and slings it at me. I don't move out of the way in time to avoid the blobby mess of sludge that splatters over my shoulder and hair, leaving me agape and staring at the brown drips leaking off of my shoulder. My hand moves on its own. I grab my own handful of mud and throw it right back, but my accuracy's a lot better. My mud shot slams into Plano's face right between his eyes in a spray of gunk and sludge.

I tense up. "Oh, God," I say with a burst of panic shooting through my voice in reaction to Plano's stunned expression. "I didn't mean to, it just kinda happened."

He laughs and grabs me by the shoulders, pulling me off the blanket and into the muddy mess of the hillside. I shriek as mud splashes around me and throw a clod back at him. As I push Plano back into a particularly large puddle, I notice something unexpected creeping up on me.

I'm having fun. For a minute, the clouds have lifted and the sun's even peaked out to fight off the shadows.

Plano wrestles me back into a muddy patch of grass and flips over on his back, dragging me on top of him. We're both laughing and covered in mind, oblivious of the chilly autumn breeze on this cloudy day as we stare up at the skies with nothing in mind and nothing to worry about. How quickly it is that I can forget all those things that have walled me away in my house for the last few months.

Plano grabs my hand and traces a pattern on the back of it with his thumb. I feel something leap up inside of me, something strange, something welcome. I don't want this thing to go away.

"It's no big house or the Capitol," he says softly as the wind dies and we're left alone on this hill. "But is it so bad out here?"

I turn my hand over and lock my thumb around his. "No. It's not so bad."


	3. The Storm Returns

I crawl out of my hole as autumn fades into winter. I don't see Plano much, but he, Odessa, and Holly light a fire in my dormant soul that's strong enough to ward off the growing cold. It's enough to get me out of the house, down to the town, and seeing friendly faces again. That's enough for me, and it's more than enough to take my mind off of all those things I'd rather not ruminate on. Pushing the Hunger Games, the Capitol, and everything else out of my mind brings a flicker of the old Summer to the world.

Unfortunately, the Capitol won't leave me alone forever.

I wake up on a particularly cold morning on the second day of winter as a freezing breeze blows outside. A frosty icing glazes over my windows, and even though my house has electric heating, I can't help but wrap my down comforter tighter around my shoulders. I yawn and sit up halfway in my bed, glance over across my room, and nearly have a heart attack.

A middle-aged woman sits in my low-backed wooden chair next to the bedroom door. She cradles a glass of orange-brown liquid and ice in her hands, but it's her bright yellow hair that's out of place in the muted winter light of my room. A snakelike tattoo reaches out from beneath the sleeves of her violet blouse and coils around her wrists.

My escort from the Games, Cesara, belches loudly and raises an eyebrow at me.

"Lose track of time?" she asks as if it's normal to show up in someone's bedroom after six months. "Probably Austin's fault."

"Wh-the Tour's starting today?" I say as panic rises up in my stomach. "No one even told me the day."

Cesara laughs derisively. "Yup, Austin's fault," she says. "I'll put it this way. Your brain-dead stylist will be here in five minutes and the cameras already are piling around the neighborhood here. There's this other stylist, the one from District 12, Effie, who has a word for this kinda thing. It's gonna be a big, big, big day."

She throws her head back and downs the rest of her drink to cap the sentiments. I moan and fall back into my bed, pulling the covers over my eyes. I knew the Tour was sometime around now, but my rising spirits and getting out of the house had destroyed any sense of time I've had over the past few weeks.

"One more thing," Cesara says as she opens my bedroom door to leave. "I've never done this Tour stuff before, so I have no idea what I'm doing. Just sayin'."

"That's reassuring," I grumble. "Why are you drinking already?"

Cesara snorts and closes the door. I guess that's as good an answer as I can expect to get.

I sigh and push myself up in my bed, still wearing my blanket over my head like a cape. I don't have more than a minute to myself before my door bursts open and a new visitor enters.

"That might as well be your attire, girl," a condescending voice scolds me. "I do not know how any of you outliers accept these conditions. Clothes required, it completely destroys the notion of artistic expression of the body. This place is a wasteland."

I push the covers off of my head. My Games stylist, Eunomia, stands in the doorway, her hands on her hips and her chin held high to complement the disdainful expression written on her face. The body tattoos that had so surprised me during our first meeting in the Capitol Remake Center last year have spread up to her neck and jawline. Thorny roses and spindly insects creep up her neck in black and green ink. They crawl across her skin with every movement of her head and send shivers up my spine. A green wool jacket and pants combo covers up her torso and legs, but I get the feeling she's only wearing the garments to ward off the cold.

I hope that's not what she has planned for my Victory Tour outfits.

"Distasteful," Eunomia goes on, ranting to the air about District 10 as if I'm not five feet in front of her. "If it weren't an icebox outside, I'd dress you in proper attire – that being _none_ at all. Only fitting to celebrate the body in all its glory."

I sink back into my bed and say, "That's quite alright."

Eunomia blinks and looks down at me, noticing me for the first time.

"Oh. Yes, it's time to…prepare," she says. "I have gathered your subordinate stylists. They await you in the washroom."

Ah, my _subordinates _wait in the _washroom_. Time to be civilized.

I slink out of bed past Eunomia and into my bathroom. My three stylists whose names I never bothered to learn loiter around my tub, sporting gaudy hairstyles and dyed skin in shades of gold and violet. The explosion of color and chatter is overwhelming in my normally quiet house, and I give up and let them assault my body with all sorts of oils, liquids, and instruments for the better part of the morning.

Being prodded and poked for three hours makes for a great start to my Victory Tour.

After Eunomia approves of my new look, I finally get a chance to see myself in the mirror. My stylists have transformed me into a creature that has no place in District 10. They've tied my hair back in a loose bun with dark brown strands running down my neck laced with golden flecks. The light blue makeup they've added around my eyes – "It'll bring them out more," they said at one point during the excursion – matches the silky blue jacket they've dressed me in. I only hope it fends off the chill. Even my skin looks brighter and smoother than normal after they zapped all my hair off and added who knows what chemicals to my every pore.

Cesara bangs on my bathroom door. "Summer?" she yells. "Hurry the hell up. We don't have all day."

"Alright, gimme a damn second," I shout louder than I intended. I'm worked up after the time with my stylists.

Cesara laughs and puts on her best imitation of Eunomia, exclaiming, "Such a boor!"

I stumble downstairs a few minutes later as Cesara and Austin argue in my dining room. An empty glass teeters on the edge of my table with a plate of cheese accompanying it.

"You're out of rum," Cesara says as she glances up at me. "And almost out of cheese."

"You shrew, that was my rum," Austin says, kicking his feet up on my table and helping himself to my cheese. "I left it here from the time I came over."

"Maybe you can do some work rather than drowning in your winnings, then," Cesara snorts. "You lazy cow."

"What a wonderful morning we're having," Austin retorts.

I sigh and slump down in a chair across from Austin. "What time do we have to be at the train?"

"Couple minutes ago," Cesara says as she pulls off another chunk of cheese. "Time to go. Smile for the camera and all that."

Austin pulls me up out of my chair and to the front door. I see several cameras waiting outside in a semicircle around my door and steel myself for the flashbulbs. I'd forgotten how much I hate the intrusion of the Capitol and its glamour. Anything to get a good picture, even if it resorts to butting into one's private life.

"Go time," Austin says as he pushes open the door.

A dozen suns blind me before I take a single step onto my porch. The cameramen fire questions at me as they snap picture after picture in seconds, and it's all I can do to plaster a fake smile on my face and wave halfheartedly.

"Sums! Smile, this way," one of the cameramen orders, drawing my attention just long enough to get a picture.

"Mm-hm," Austin scoffs under his breath. "That's you. Sums."

"Just shut up and take me to the train," I mutter as a car pulls up into the Victor's Village.

I spend what seems like eternity waving, smiling, and blowing kisses at cameras between my porch and the car and from the car to the train once we arrive at the station. At this point I'm desperate to get moving if only to escape the media. Is this how it's going to be during the next Hunger Games? I don't know how I'll make it if so.

The shine of a crystal chandelier and the opulence of silver tables greets me as I board the long locomotive that awaits me. Bronze platters filled with flaky pastries and perspiring fruits sit idly in the entrance car as I step aboard. Cal's already aboard, slumping down on a long plush couch and holding a glass of clear liquid and ice to his forehead as Cesara follows me onto the train.

"The cameras can't come aboard, right?" Cal mutters as Austin scampers into the car. "Been seventeen years since I last did this. I can't remember at this point."

"That's because you're getting old," Austin teases.

"Yeah, well…I am. So there," Cal replies.

Cesara grabs a pastry and opens the cabin's door, saying, "I have to go talk to the conductor to get us going. We're behind 'cuz of those media idiots. Don't abuse the girl, Austin."

Austin snorts as soon as she leaves and helps himself to the fruit platter, saying, "She'd know all about abuse. Damn vixen."

I sit down on the couch opposite Cal as he takes a bite of a pastry and appraises me with a long, deep look. "So, about all the Tour," he says. "Wait, first – did you finally go down and get those boots in town?"

"Yes, I did," I say and roll my eyes. "You don't have to keep worrying over me."

"Ah, I care about you, girl," Cal says with the hint of a smile as he looks out the window. The train lurches to a start, and District 10 slowly rolls past the window as we get going. "Enough of that, though. We need to go over how the Tour's gonna work."

"More cameras," Austin interjects as he digs through a pile of strawberries.

"Besides that," Cal says, furrowing his brow and casting Austin a look over his shoulder. "Look, you're gonna have to confront some bad memories, Summer. We'll roll into District 12 tomorrow morning. You'll have to give a short speech – Cesara's already prepared some remarks, don't worry about that – and the families of the two tributes from last year will be up front watching you. That means you'll have to see any parents and siblings of your friend from there, not to mention having a sit-down dinner with the mayor and talking about the district during that. There's eleven of those of those, off to the Capitol for a whole lot of nonsense, then a wrap-up back here at home, so it's gonna be a lot. Think you can handle that?"

I fiddle with my Capitol-made jacket and glance down at my hands. What must Lily's family think of me? Am I a friend to them too, or just a victor who survived when their daughter didn't? Lily mentioned in the arena that her family was poor. Will they see me as another Capitol beneficiary doing well while they suffer?

I'm not sure I could handle that. I don't even know if I can handle going to her home and talking about my friend who helped carry me through the arena, but I don't have a choice.

"Yeah," I lie and nod, looking down at the floor and pushing a piece of lint under the table with my foot. "Yeah, that's fine."

Cal lowers his chin and stares at me. "Summer, if you wanna tell us anything, you can," he says.

"I'm fine."

My mentor sits back and finishes his pastry. He gets up and rubs crumbs off of his pants, saying, "I'm gonna go make sure the rooms are ready. Austin – what we talked about."

He gives our fellow victor a long, solemn stare. I can't help but think there's something deeper going on between these two.

"Do your thing," Austin says, biting a strawberry in half and waving him off. "Not like I'm gonna seduce her or anything."

"Especially on the 'or anything,'" Cal says before opening the car door and stepping out.

A long silence settles over the lounge car as Austin watches Cal go. He waits a minute and keeps an eye in the door, and when he's satisfied our fellow victor's gone, he throws a latch across the door to lock it in place.

"Cal's a funny guy," Austin says, grabbing the platter of strawberries and sitting it on the table between us. "Y'know he always wanted kids?"

"No," I answer, folding my arms across my chest.

"Well, guess he got one," he smirks. "He cares about you a _little_ too much though. I think he feels you can't take care of yourself in the aftermath of the Games and all. Is he right?"

I lower my head and stare up at Austin. "I won the Hunger Games. I'm not some dainty butterfly."

"That's what I'm saying," Austin says, leaning back in the couch. "Now, listen. Cal's right about the districts, but seriously, nobody's really going to care until you get to the Capitol. That's when everyone takes notice of what you do, and that's when you'll have to confront some of the tougher stuff."

"Tougher?"

"Look at it this way," Austin says, quieting his voice, leaning forward, and resting his elbows on his knees. "You'll probably meet President Snow while you're there – and I mean really meet, not just see him as he puts a crown on your head like after the Games. He's not the only one you need to pay attention to. The Capitol's a messed-up place right now. It might look peachy, but everyone has their own agenda. Scipio, that guy you met in my house a few weeks back? He's just one of the players, and don't be surprised if you meet him again."

"What are you saying?" I ask with a trace of hesitation.

"I'm saying, be careful what _you_ say on the Tour," Austin says, his eyes wide and serious. "This is a different kind of game, Summer. It's not just tributes killing each other. It's cloak-and-dagger stuff full of backroom deals and smooth-talkers. Don't commit to anything unless you have no other choice. If possible, make sure you're always with one of Cal, Cesara, and I. I don't want to sound patronizing, but Cal and Cesara don't know the entirety of what's going on."

I sit forward in my seat and look at the ground, biting my lower lip out of frustration. "What does any of this have to do with me?" I ask. "I'm just…I'm just a sixteen year-old victor. Why would anyone want anything to do with me in all this stuff you're talking about?"

"'Cuz every victor is precious," Austin says. "There're less than sixty of us still alive. We're madly popular in our home districts for the most part despite some of the looks we get from the townsfolk, and the Capitol loves those of us who look good and have name recognition – just like you, since you're so fresh in your minds. You'll have crowds screaming your name. That makes you a hot commodity, and people with less-than-noble intentions will be quick to pick up on that. They're not so interested about how you look on camera but rather on how you can sway people to believe in what you say. That's why you've got to be on guard."

So that's it, then. There go any remaining hopes of living a normal life with friends, family, and maybe even a bit of love. No, now I'm just a pawn in some game that's bigger than me, bigger than the Hunger Games. It's the Capitol and Panem at stake, and tributes and victors are small fry compared to President Snow and whoever else Austin's talking about.

I let my forehead rest in my palm and stare at a strawberry on the top of the platter. "So why doesn't Cal know? Why isn't he involved in all of this?"

"Cal's old news," Austin says, waving his hands for effect. "He won years and years ago. The Capitol likes what's new, and nothing's newer than you. This Victory Tour and during the upcoming Games all the cameras will be on you. The people who matter, they won't miss that."

"I don't suppose I can just…opt out of all this and try to be normal, just a victor and mentor and all that."

"No," Austin shakes his head and looks out the window as the last of District 10 fades into the horizon. "No, there is no normal victory and mentorship anymore, Summer. Panem's falling apart. Cal might want to protect you from all the dirt that's gathering in the country, but it's only a matter of time 'til things hit the fan. You're right in the middle of the storm, and you don't have a choice but to ride it out."


	4. Mirror

_**A/N: Sorry for the delay; this chapter has held me up like crazy. Been busy, too, but that's no excuse on my part. I'll try to update faster in coming chapters!  
**_

* * *

The land ices over as the train heads east to District 12.

Frozen forests whip by the window of my train bedroom. The heat inside the train's not enough to ward out the cold, and the chill invades the car and slips past the cloak of blankets I cling to about my shoulders. Even the Capitol's finest cloth's not enough to stave off the freeze of what must be the worst winter in Panem's history.

I clench my fingers around a mug of hot cocoa and relish the wisps of steam that drift across my face. One of the train's avoxes brought it to me, and it took all my strength not to offer her some in return. They must be freezing walking around the train at all hours in their silk uniforms.

"Summer?" Cal's voice speaks up through my bedroom door. "You wake up?"

"Huh?" I say.

"Stylists want at you. We're about an hour out. Let's go."

I slump against the wall and plant my palms over my face. Back to the schedule. Back to being herded around. Of course. Silently I curse Plano, Odessa, and Holly back home. Even if they're cold too, they don't have to deal with the chill _and_ twittering stylists at this hour. Scooping cow dung sounds like a delightful alternative.

In no time I'm back at the hands of the stylists as they slather me with gels, creams, and lord knows what else. I try to put on a smile, but all I can concentrate on is the moldy cheese-like odor of the goop the stylists smear all over my face.

I'm at a loss for how it makes me look good.

"Simply stunning," one of the stylists, a pudgy man with his skin dyed the color of blood, says as they finish. "I can't imagine a better image."

"Our natural talent at work. Radiant," another, a thin, tall woman with blue-green hair, says while nodding. "Let's get Eunomia!"

They rush out like they're playing a game of hide-and-go-seek, leaving me wincing over the number of times they prodded and poked my skin. It's not as bad as yesterday's assault before boarding the train, but I'll never get used to the stylists.

"It'll do," I hear Eunomia say as she eyes me from the far end of the car we're in. I didn't even hear her approach. "Listen to me, girl."

She draws close and leans down as if she's afraid of being overheard. "This isn't just your show, child. It's all of ours. We get one chance to make a display with it all riding on you – _you!_ This far exceeds your little arena. This is the public watching. Do _not_ do anything unless any of your mentors or _I_ tell you to."

I crinkle my nose and glance away. All these stylists are ridiculous. As if my games _weren't_ watched by everyone. Eunomia's never made me feel great, but the more she opens her mouth, the more I want to throw her off this moving train. She's everything about the Capitol I hate.

"Your attire is in there," Eunomia says as she's about to leave, pointing to a closet to my right. "I trust you can dress yourself."

With that, she slams the door behind her and leaves me alone to my thoughts. What _was_ that all about? Is Eunomia just having a bad morning, or is something amiss on the trip? She is right about one thing, however: I can't dawdle now. The spotlight's back after a blissful few months away from the Capitol and the Hunger Games, and I need to stay focused.

Eunomia's given me a thick, furry brown coat and a pair of white boots. I eagerly throw them on to keep out the cold, but when I look at myself in the mirror, I feel a pang of guilt for getting upset over Eunomia's assistants. From the way my hair curls over my shoulder to the golden streaks painted under my eyes, the stylists have made me look amazing. They're annoying, yes – but they know how to bring out a shine in my eyes in a way I've thought impossible.

Austin throws open the door with a snarl, but he takes a step back when he sees me.

"Damn girl," he says, his frown curling up into a grin. "They do work with you."

I slump my shoulders and roll my eyes. "Are we there?"

"Yeah. C'mon. I got word there's uh…bit of an unexpected hitch in things."

A knot forms in my stomach. "A hitch?"

"A guest. Well, two. You'll see."

That's not reassuring. I swallow my foreboding and follow after Austin through the train, careful not to slip and dash the stylists' work.

"District 12," Austin says under his breath as we walk. "This place is enough to give you depression, especially in the winter. Hope we ain't staying long."

When I look outside the window, I'm confronted only with a sea of white. Dead trees with branches skeletal and bare stick through the blanket of snow that stretches in every direction. Tiny wooden buildings with knocked-in windows and splintering roofs dot the landscape here and there. I can't imagine how people can call them homes.

This is Lily's home? This is _anyone_'s home?

"This is horrible," I say. "I know it's supposed to be poor, but…"

"But it's the armpit of Panem," Austin finishes for me. "Like I said – let's get in and get out."

Cal and Cesara wait for us in the lounge car, and I brace myself as Cesara opens the car's door to the low wooden platform that awaits us. As soon as the door creaks, a blast of frigid wind races through the cabin. I grit my teeth and wrap my arms like a vise around my chest. My jacket's warm, but it's nowhere close to keeping my bones from icing over in the polar black hole of District 12's winter.

"Why can't they schedule this damn thing in August?" Cesara says through clenched teeth as she forces the door open. "Damn. Alright, smile, cameras, all that. Summer!"

I ball my hands into fists and follow Cesara out onto the platform. I barely find the energy to tighten my jaw into a smile and lift my chin from my chest as cameras all over the train station with the staccato of a firing squad. I wave, fake excitement for the press, eager to get this part of the trip here over with.

"Summer! Summer Glenn, so glad to see you arrive!"

I spin at the sound of a light, airy voice. Austin whispers, "Guests," in my ear, and I see he's understating our hosts by a mile.

A portly man with a long, thin blonde mustache waddles up to the train station. He's dressed in gaudy attire for the conditions, with a long scarlet overcoat and a wig of brilliant orange giving him into a strange, fiery visage that doesn't match his physical features at all. I know this man; all of Panem does. He's Hunger Games Head Gamesmaker, Pontus Blue - the man who planned all our deaths in the arena, the man who's work killed Lily and Acton.

I bristle and shiver, but this time it's not from the cold.

Pontus strolls up with a wave to a camera and a cheery smile plastered on his pudgy face. "Not exactly summer out here in the backwards end of the world, is it? Ha! Pleasure to meet you in person, victor."

I hold back a wince as Pontus grabs my hand as if he wants to strangle it. "Um…the same!"

"Of course, of course," the Gamesmaker says. He glances around from side to side before continuing. "It, ah, good to get out here once and a while, you know? Away from all the lights and cameras, of course! One can only take so much Capitol splendor before needing a breather."

Hairs creep up along the back of my arms. He's contradicting himself, blathering, rambling – and from the way he's glancing around, it's as if Pontus suspects something dangerous is headed his way. Somehow, I doubt he came out to District 12 for fresh air and to say hello.

"Well, there's plenty of cameras out here," I say, trying to lighten the tension and nodding towards the photographers. "Do you always come out for the Victory Tour?"

I ignore Austin's foot jabbing against my ankle as Pontus shrugs off my probe with a laugh. "No, no," he says, waving his hand in the air. "A magnificent Games last year, wouldn't you say? You're a popular victor, Summer, and you should be greeted by the best! And only good to get our working relationship off to a good start early – I'll be seeing you back in the Capitol for the end of the Tour and next year's Games."

Pontus sweeps his hand back towards the slope leading away from the station and says, "A car for you and your mentors awaits. I'll walk you there. Come."

I glance over my shoulder at Cal, but he ushers me on with a shake of his head.

"Popular, popular, as I said," Pontus says as we walk down the station's wooden steps. "You're new, pretty, and the people adore you for now, Summer. That's a…powerful mix."

"Powerful, sir?" I say.

"Oh, enough with the sir! We're friends, I'm sure we'll be friends, Summer…I'm just Pontus to you. And powerful, well, I, uh, mean that in a social way, of course. You're voice carries weight. People look up to you."

_Enough with the evasiveness_. "I'm not much of a role model."

"Well so you think," Pontus claps a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to shudder. "Listen, Summer – I need to be able to trust you. I need a favor."

"A favor?"

Pontus bites his lower lip and squints one eye. "I'm a Gamesmaker, but more of an engineer. I build arenas and games – and as you know well, I'm good at it."

He grins pushes me even closer to smashing my fist into his eye.

"But I'm not so good at public relations," he says with an exaggerated sigh. "Truth be told, Summer, I have my detractors. They're the seditious kind, the borderline-traitors, not a drop of patriotic blood in their veins – but they have their fans and groupies. So when you're back in the Capitol, I need your support and enthusiasm. You give me your support Summer, well…I'll see to it that you have mine."

So even the Head Gamesmaker has enemies. I swallow the urge to shove him and laugh. I'm in no position to seek revenge for Lily, Acton, and everything else that happened in the arena, regardless of what I feel.

"Of course," I say with an ear-to-ear smile. "Whatever you need."

Pontus's toothy smile blinds me. "I see our relationship going far, Summer," he says with a chuckle. "But here are our cars. The first for you and yours, the second for me."

Two shiny black autos covered in frost and snow await, their wheels digging into the ice. The rear passenger door of Pontus's car opens and out steps one of the best-dressed men I've ever seen. He's Capitolian, for sure: The tall man's red-and-black suit fits his slender body without a single wrinkle, and his black goatee, styled with sharp angles up and down his jawline, draws my staring eyes to it.

"Good timing," Pontus says. "Summer, my senior associate and assistant in the Hunger Games – Seneca Crane. Seneca, you know who this is."

Seneca nods his head an inch and folds his arms behind his back. "Pleasure, Miss Glenn," he says. I don't get any fake smile or exaggerated laugh from him. He's all business as he turns back to Pontus. "Time to go, sir."

"Yes, yes," Pontus waves him off and dusts snow off of his shoulder. "Well, Summer, I'll see you and your contingent back in a week or two in the Capitol. Do try and enjoy this…ah, frosty air. 'Tis the season."

He laughs and slumps into the care with all the grace of a cow needing milking. Seneca closes the door after him and glances back at me. I can't help but notice a shimmer in his eyes as if he knows something more about his boss, something secret.

Before I can wonder another moment, he steps into their car and the vehicle's engine growls as it drives off on the snow-covered streets.

"Slimy guy," I say to Austin, who's trailed behind me the whole time with Cal and Cesara, the three lost in their own conversation.

"That's what a lot of us think about him," Austin says quietly as we step forward to the car. "Seneca's a good guy, though. Some of us…would rather he be Head Gamesmaker, if you get my drift. We'll talk more later. I know loads of things about Pontus Blue that he wouldn't want you to hear."

The car shuttles my mentors and I to District 12's Hall of Justice, a gray, stone-hewn building that looks as if its very foundations have frozen over. Snow at least a foot and a half deep covers the tall building's roof, and piles of the stuff stretch up the first floor windows.

The building's warm inside, but I don't have time to appreciate the building's mahogany-lined hallways and pastel paintings of Panem's history that hang on them. Peacekeeper hands rush me forward and turn my surroundings into a blur. I hear voices – Cesara, Cal, others – telling me to "smile" and "don't slouch during your speech." Right. Victory speech…in front of the entire district. _Oh boy_.

It's not just the fear of speaking in front of thousands of people in the town square that unsettles me as I hurry down the halls towards the prepared stage. The Tour's confronting me with Lily's death with a sea of mourning eyes. I can't hide from the nightmares anymore.

In no time we reach a heavy oaken door. Two Capitol attendants wearing headsets stand before it, with one glancing at me and holding up two fingers.

"Sixty seconds and on," he says.

I try to run through the speech the Capitol prepared for me, but the words swirl together like a ruined soup. I close my eyes and take a deep breath to clear my head, but nothing's working.

"Summer," Cal says and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Just say what sounds normal. There's no pressure here. These people ain't against you."

I nod and clench my fists by my side. Right. I stood up for Lily. I didn't kill their kids. No pressure.

The Capitol attendant gives me a thumbs up and says, "You're on."

The great doors open up and a blast of chilly air smacks me. I grit my teeth and summon up my strength, forcing a smile upon my face and waving to the scattered applause from the crowd before me. The town square's not so intimidating as I thought, but more of a solemn, sorrowful sight. District 12's people stand with slumped shoulders in outfits of gray and brown, their hair unkempt and their cheeks sagging. On three sides of them the brick buildings of the square cower under winter's assault, bearing loads of snow upon their groaning roofs. Even the bright crimson-and-gold Capitol banners hung around the square in a display of patriotism can't lift the dreary feeling the square gives.

I shudder and walk forward onto a creaking wooden stage. A lonely microphone awaits me, alongside an aging man who introduces me and shakes my hand with little conviction.

"Mayor Undersee," he says to me with a hollow voice. His gray hair droops over his forehead and his threadbare black suit barely reaches his waist. "It's…a shame the weather isn't cooperating."

I press my lips together. "It's alright."

The mayor waves over to a small blonde-haired girl standing off to the side. She's only as tall as my chest and probably eleven or twelve years old, with a warm face but cool, guarded eyes. The girl carries a bouquet of sunny white flowers in her hand, but the sight doesn't lighten my spirits. I recognize those flowers.

They're lilies.

"Madge!" the mayor says, waving her forward. "Come!"

The girl – Madge – takes a step forward, then another, before hurrying up and thrusting the flowers at me as if they're infected. I take them and give her the best smile I can muster, but she runs back to the safety of her seat before I can say my thanks. Am I that scary?

The mayor ushers me forward to the microphone, but I pause and take in the crowd below me first. It's hard to filter through all the sad faces. A boy with dark hair and olive skin here. A chubby girl with curly blonde hair there – she must be one of the wealthier ones, considering how skinny everyone else is. A girl, probably Madge's age with gray eyes, high cheekbones, and a dark braid of hair standing off to the side of the square. All of them watch me, waiting, expecting...something.

My eyes fall down to the families of the fallen.

I don't recognize the mother and father of Lily's district partner. I can't even remember his name, and he died without ever running into me in the arena. He's little more than a passing memory to me, a name on the wall. I sympathize with their tears and skinny arms and sunken cheeks, but I don't feel what they do.

Lily's family draws a sickening feeling in my gut. A short, dark-haired father who looks so much like his fallen daughter clutches a scrawny boy of maybe eight or nine who cries into his coal-covered shirt. A girl who stands maybe as high my hips stands next to them, pulling at her father's ripped pants pocket, her face blank and eyes wandering. She's too young to understand. She'll never know what her sister died for or the bravery she fought with.

Damnit. My throat tightens over the scene.

"Uh…hi," I say into the microphone as the speakers squeak with reverb. _Great start, Summer._ "I know it's cold, so I'll try to make it fast."

I press my thumbs into my flower bouquet and speak up. "I don't know much about District 12, but I know this: For the two weeks or so that I knew Lily, I knew her as the best friend someone could have had in the Hunger Games. She was loyal all the way to the end, kind, caring to a fault – she even made me mad a few times when she wasn't more aggressive."

I try to laugh at that last line to cheer people up, but all I manage is a hiccup. "I know she loved her home, even with the hardships. She loved you all, and if she was an example of District 12's best, then this district's full of the greatest people I can imagine. I'd give anything to see her up here with me in victory, but...she didn't die alone. She didn't die for nothing. I'll remember her wherever I go as a victor, and I hope you all can too. Both of your tributes. Both of them fought a good fight."

I step back from the microphone and look back towards the stage. The mayor walks up to finish off the ceremony, but I take one last look back at the crowd.

They clap for me, but their faces fill with the familiarity of loss. This isn't new to them. The Hunger Games provide only death here, like they so often do in District 10. Even Lily's family cries harder despite my attempts to lift their spirits.

I'm crestfallen. This Victory Tour's no celebration. It's only placed a mirror before my broken heart.

* * *

_**A/N: Yay, Lil' Madge and Lil' Katniss. We're getting somewhere as far as action and intrigue goes, promise!**_


End file.
